another heart calls
by one hundred sleepless nights
Summary: Lights will guide you home. —Massie/Derrick. May-Day exchange fanfic, for dreamsareinfinity6.


for the may-day fanfic exchange.

**dedication: **to dreamsareinfinity6  
**prompts: **dreams, queens and princess, and powers

**another heart calls**

It's the first time Derrick has seen her in 3 years, and then some, in that airport, not that he's counting; he's merely stating. He waits with his friends—dragged along by _their_ girlfriends—, splayed out on chairs, faces displaying various degrees on interest.

She bounces as she walks, wheeling behind a suitcase in an eccentric shade of deep eggplant, straight into the embrace of four girls who never forgot, never really moved on. There's something about her that he can't place; a certain sort of airiness in her actions as she playfully guards her caramel macchiato from the greedy lips of her companions.

Yet, the way she carries herself, the way she straightens her spine and looks directly into his eyes is strange; she handles herself with genuine confidence and sophistication.

She's matured, but in a way that clearly speaks of no longer in a rush to grow up; the most contrasting, complex contradiction. It's startling how different she looks. He can't help but to notice trivial, material details as well; the lack of heavy makeup, with only mascara and lipgloss to accentuate her features. She has opted for a pair of low-heeled knee-high boots to match her dark jeans and long-sleeved, V-neck shirt, rather than fussing with over-complicated outfits, as she once did. Her amber eyes are sharp and focused. It reminds Derrick of a queen back in her rightful kingdom.

Her arms are linked with the two blondes, the redhead and the raven haired beauty, her princesses, her ladies-in-waiting, as she strolls through the airport.

Not once does she look back.

.

.

.

Rumors circulate about a New York branch of her father's company.

He almost doesn't care.

Because nevertheless—

She's _back_.

.

.

.

She has a boyfriend, he discovers. Massie Block, the girl he thought would wait forever, has a boyfriend.

A James _something_. Derrick doesn't bother to grasp hold of his last name; he knows that this James is a pretty boy who will never know her the way he did, the way he _does_. He is ignorant of the fact that her boyfriend bought her roses and candy hearts for Valentine's Day—_her favourite flowers are irises_—or that he gifted her with diamond teardrop earrings for her 16th birthday—_she always preferred rubies—; _it just didn't matter.

Not to Derrick, anyways.

With the taste of regret on his tongue, he imagines the conversations left in the past; on muggy summer nights, when they'd sit on her balcony and listen to the empty wind, and talk—about anything and everything.

He dreams about her, that night.

.

.

.

Derrick watches her almost obsessively; she's always had that effect on him—on everyone, really. It's a curious power of hers. Their friends always catch him, shooting him that funny little look; raised eyebrows, meaningful smile. Somehow, she is always painfully unaware, or maybe she's just purposely disregarding him.

There is a barely tangible British lilt to her speech. She has an odd habit of wrinkling her nose every time she's excited and bloating her cheeks whenever she is nervous. Her head tips to one side everytime she smiles, lips stretching like she has a secret, something to hide.

She laughs like silver bells; clear and light and free

.

.

.

It's the middle of Christmas break, and everyone is out of town on exotic excursions, when she comes to him, at 2 AM. She's breaking down and spouting incoherent thoughts about her breakup with James, which _literally happened 10 minutes ago_, and how even though she was the one who called it off, she feels so guilty, so terrible, so hurt; 3 years of memories, laughing—gone.

And even though he feels like the biggest asshole in the world, Derrick can't quench the bubble of pure elation expanding beneath his chest.

.

.

.

He ends up ushering her into her house, up the stairs and into his room. His parents are away (a cruise, he thinks) and Sammi is with her boyfriend and Mini was given time off.

They lie on his navy blue comforter with her favourite mint chocolate chip ice-cream and watch old Audrey Hepburn movies with all the lights off. He can't stand movies set in black and white; they make him feel uncomfortably restless, but somehow, it's alright because he's too occupied with focusing on her face.

The way the soft glare of the television bounces off her liquid eyes fascinate him.

They fall asleep together; leftovers from the ice cream melting by the bed and the drone of the movie in the background.

.

.

.

The sun hasn't risen yet when he wakes up. Derrick props himself up on an elbow and stares at the girl beside him. There's a furrow in between her eyebrows and a subtle frown on her lips. Tentatively, he ghosts down the contours of her cheek with a finger. He is so enthralled in tracing shapes, lines, a story, into her skin, it takes him too long to comprehend that her eyes have opened, mouth set in the shape of an "O".

Then suddenly, she's kissing him or he's kissing her; he doesn't know what happened, but he honestly doesn't care because the wait's been too long.

He whispers something that sounds suspiciously like _Iloveyou _against her lips; he isn't sure himself because the exhilaration is intoxicating and he can't think straight.

She tastes like vanilla and honey.

.

.

.

Massie presses a kiss against his cheek, and tiptoes out of his house.

He tries not to break.

.

.

.

It's the last day before school starts again. They find each other at the park, the swing-set, and she's bundled in scarves and cardigans and skirts with leggings underneath a parka with a fur-lined hood. The tearstains and fragile smile on her face convey 3 years of apologies and unfinished scripts and possible endings.

Derrick thinks of middle school (_immature_) and of what their friends would say—_I told you so—_and of _her_; and he opens his arms just the slightest bit, enough for her to slip through.

.

.

.

They sit side by side, swaying back and forth, in sync with the snow drifting from colourless clouds. Massie hums in tune with the nonexistent chirping of birds, and he takes her hand in his.

Together, they wait.

* * *

this is weird. idk man. but i hope you like it.

review!


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